he foot of a lofty cliff.

"Can he have gone up here?" said Sam, as they were brought up by the
rock.

"Most likely," said Cecil. "Lost children always climb from height to
height. I have heard it often remarked by old bush hands. Why they do so,
God, who leads them, only knows; but the fact is beyond denial. Ask
Rover what he thinks."

The brave old dog was half-way up, looking back for them. It took them
nearly till dark to get their horses up; and, as there was no moon, and
the way was getting perilous, they determined to camp, and start again
in the morning.

They spread their blankets, and lay down side by side. Sam had thought,
from Cecil's proposing to come with him in preference to the others,
that he would speak of a subject nearly concerning them both; out Cecil
went off to sleep and made no sign; and Sam, ere he dozed, said to
himself, "If he doesn't speak this journey, I will. It is unbearable
that we should not come to some understanding. Poor Cecil!"

At early dawn they caught up their horses, which had been hobbled with
the stirrup leathers, and started afresh. Both were more silent than
ever, and the dog, with his nose to the ground, led them slowly along
the rocky rib of the mountain, ever going higher and higher.

"It is inconceivable," said Sam, "that the poor child can have come up
here. There is Tuckerimbid close to our right, five thousand feet above
the river. Don't you think we must be mistaken?"

"The dog disagrees with you," said Cecil. "He has something before him,
not very far off. Watch him."

The trees had become dwarfed and scattered; they were getting out of the
region of trees; the real forest zone was now below them, and they saw
they were emerging toward a bald elevated down, and that a few hundred
yards before them was a dead tree, on the highest branch of which sat an
eagle.

"The dog has stopped," said Cecil; "the end is near."

"See," said Sam, "there is a handkerchief under the tree."

"That is the boy himself," said Cecil.

They were up to him and off in a moment. There he lay dead and stiff,
one hand still grasping the flowers he had gathered on his last happy
play-day, and the other laid as a pillow between the soft cold cheek and
the rough cold stone. His midsummer holiday was over, his long journey
was ended. He had found out at last what lay beyond the shining river he
had watched so long.

That is the whole story, General Halbert; and who should know it bett